I pushed them down my thighs with my underwear, grabbed some lotion, and sniffed. It smelled like jasmine—her scent. I was already halfway to a chubby but knowing this was the stuff she used on her body got me harder. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
I stroked once, acknowledging the weirdness. Not my dick, just the situation. Though in fairness, my cock did feel strange in my hand. Like I’d never touched it before, or it belonged to someone else.
Not really the direction I wanted to go in, but damn, this would be easier if I had access to … ethical porn.
I huffed out a laugh. After all my professions of ease, now I was thinking I might indeed need a helping hand. But I refused to watch porn, no matter how ethical it was. Instead, I imagined what Franky might be doing now. Was she in the living room reading one of her academic journal articles, trying to block out how the sausage was made?
(Sausage. Ha!)
Was she hiding away in the bathroom, worried she might hear something she shouldn’t?
Except she should hear it. She should hear the effort that went into producing one half of her kid. Maybe she was closer than I thought. On the other side of the door, listening in a non-ethical way.
My cock jumped, liking that notion. Liking it a lot.
I shot a glance toward the door, covered with a poster of the periodic table of elements. Of course. It wouldn’t be so terrible if she was close by, the delicate shell of her ear pressed to the wood, (naughty, naughty, Taylor), maybe her hand down her pants.
Oh, my dick liked that big time!
I stroked harder, taking it from root to tip. Pearls of pre-come were leaking from the crown. Did we need that for the baby? Probably not, and neither did I think it feasible to try to save it while I was getting a rhythmic stroke going.
“You there, Francesca?” I whispered. “You listening in on the action?”
No answer. My filthy brain insisted she was, though. Not only that, but she was touching herself, running soft fingers through her wet pussy while she strained her ear for my moans and fuck—that felt so good.
My hand moved faster, flying up and down, tugging hard because that was how I liked it.
“Yeah, baby, just like that.” The doc was stroking herself, but she had enough coordination to give my dick the love it needed. Surprisingly agile for a nerd. “Use your mouth. Use that sharp tongue to suck me.”
And she did. She had wicked skills in that department, but then I’d always assumed she was a Jill of all trades. Probably not a lot that brainiac couldn’t do if she put her mind to it.
Intelligence had always turned me on. I didn’t get much chance to date brainy women. They’d usually made up their minds about me before we even got to that point.
She had. Dr. Francesca St. James. And as hot as this imaginary situation was, the bottom line was that she only wanted my sperm, not anything else. I was no better than a stable stud, a top shelf Thoroughbred, but a stud all the same. We might be planning a co-parenting setup, but she clearly thought I’d bail when I got bored, like my dad had done with us.
That should have been a dampener on my jerk off, but something about how mad it made me took me through that last stretch. Heightened everything. My balls sizzled and lightning bolted through my body, the supercharged zing of oncoming release mere seconds away.
I grabbed the cup and placed it over the crown of my dick just as it exploded, along with a loud yell from my throat.
After I’d come down, I listened. Sounded like Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” Had she heard? Or was she a better person than me?
I sat up and checked the cup. Definitely more than a teaspoon, but not as much as I expected. After cleaning myself up with the provided tissues and pulling my jeans back on, I headed to the door. I had thought the poster pinned there was the periodic table, but no. It was the Purriodic Table and the elements were all kittens. You thought one thing, and then it turned out to be something else …
No dirty-minded professor waiting outside.
I went to the bathroom to wash my hands, then sought out my baby-making partner. She was sitting at the table in the kitchen, her cat on her lap, sipping tea and reading something on her iPad. She didn’t look like she’d made a mad dash back from listening in or like she had any particularly fulfilling experience herself.
She looked up, her gaze drawn to the cup in hand.
“Delivery for the doc.”
She released a sigh. It was one of relief, and my heart keened at the sight of her face, racked with such naked need.
I placed the sample on the table. “What’s next?”
She stood, sending the black cat in a graceful spring to the floor, though he hissed his disapproval of me and maybe, this entire enterprise.
“I need to inseminate. And it would be best if you left while I did that.”
